To Whom It May Concern
by Alice Turner
Summary: Alice Adler-Holmes only met her father a few times.
1. Chapter 1

**Guys, don't kill me. I know I started another story in the process of another, but I promise I'll update both as much as possible.**

**AT-**

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><p>The first time I met my father, he was drowning in the Thames.<p>

My mother had suggested we visit London over the Christmas holiday and I agreed, for I had never seen London and at thirteen, curiosity overtook me often. We stayed in a beautiful hotel, its lobby decorated lavishly with traditional symbols of the holidays. They even had a tree, covered with gilded candles, indoors! Oh, how I could have sat and watched that beautiful spruce for the rest of my days!

My mother was secretive about her job (I knew she had some sort of work arrangement, because she was a single mother and could afford furs for both herself and me) so I often spent my free time wandering the snowy streets of the Mayfair district, strolling through Green Park and sitting to stare at the magnificent (and relatively new) Buckingham Palace while waiting for her to return.

Mother and I dined out every evening, often visiting her many friends at the various artistic performances about town. They would exclaim things like "My, you have gotten so big, I remember when you were barely a metre high!" and "Goodness, how you look just like your mother!" As you can imagine, these compliments embarrassed me more than they flattered me, and I found myself blushing under the gaze of men on more than one occasion.

On one particular afternoon, my mother suggested I accompany her on a 'shopping trip' to the other side of the city, and I obliged, as it was snowing and too cold to explore. She hailed us a cab and before long we were settled warmly and on our way.

"Alice, do you know what a bascule suspension bridge is?"

"It's a relatively new invention per se, is it not? Those have been used for generations, the french just recently discovered how to utilize it properly. The Tower Bridge is one of those," I replied, looking at her curiously. "Why ever do you ask?"

Mother only smiled at me, but her eyes were tinted with an emotion I didn't understand.

"My, how smart you are," she said with a dainty laugh. "We will be driving over that bridge, the first of its kind on such an immense scale, and I thought you might be interested."

Of course I was, and much to my mother's amusement I spent the next few minutes staring out the freezing window panes of the cab, my eyes scanning for any sign of the huge structure. We sat in comfortable silence until I spotted the bridge, pointing it out excitedly. She laughed, listening to me ramble on about bridges and architecture and vertical suspension.

The cab rolled over the pavement, and though nearly ten years old, it was still deliciously smooth under the wheels. Many other carriages and a few motorcars traversed the bridge, but up ahead it seemed as though the traffic had stopped. Our cabbie pulled us over, walking to the side of the cab with an apologetic smile.

"Ma'am, I'm beggin' your pardon, but it seems as though a man has fallen off the bridge and traffic is forbidden to pass. I assure you we will be moving along shortly."

Mother nodded in understanding, murmuring to herself. The cabbie bowed shortly and disappeared into the crowd that had gathered along the edge of the bridge to see what was going on. My mother, being as curious as I, slipped out of our warm cab and into the freezing snow, and I, thinking that she had gone crazy, sat in stunned silence, watching her go. When had my mother decided to be the type to brave the cold and crowd to see a man die? After a few minutes, the questions that had arose in my head were eating at me, and I too had decided I needed to investigate.

Climbing out of the carriage, I stepped into the trampled snow along the edge of the road, my breath catching in my throat due to the cold. I trudged forward, pushing through the crowd, and as I neared the railing I saw one of the sole most terrifying scenes of my young life.

My mother had stripped down to her winter petticoats and thrown herself off the bridge.

Screaming, I scrambled through the few remaining people to stare over the edge, watching my mother swan-dive into the freezing river below. I continued to yell, begging someone to do something, someone to explain what was going on, and someone to save my mother. An old woman wearing several tattered shawls pulled me close, murmuring that it was okay, my mother was fine, and to watch, her cockney accent thick with distress. With tears streaming down my face, I settled my gaze on the gray waves some many metres below. A few moments went by, and suddenly I could see my mother's head bobbing about in the water. My heart fluttered happily, and I then realized she had the supposedly drowning man by his dress shirt, attempting to swim and pull him to the nearest portion of seawall.

A tall man with a blonde mustache rode by in a police vehicle, screaming out of the window, "Move out of the way, the police need to get through! Everyone back, back please, yes! I'm a doctor, thank you!"

The Mariah continued down the bridge and to the road below, trying to get as close to the water as possible. The crowd followed the car, all talking loudly about what was going on. Instead of walking down to the water with the rest of the civilians, I decided to stay up on the bridge a bit to get a better view of what was going on. I watched several policemen throw a rope to my mother and she tied it to the, heaven forbid, seemingly dead man. They pulled both my mother and the man in, helping first my mother and then the unknown body up out of the water. Immediately, blankets and warm water were dispensed to the two victims, and I ran down the bridge, pushing through the crowd and to my mother.

She was shivering from the cold and the doctor was taking her vitals.  
>"Ms. Adler, it's good to see you again, though unfortunately under such circumstances."<br>Mother laughed shakily, replying with her customary grace, "It is good to see you as well Doctor, though Sherlock may disagree when he comes to." They both laughed at this, before the blonde doctor excused himself to see to 'Sherlock.'

Mother gestured me forward, wrapping her arms around me as I wept into her soaking dress. She let me cry, whispering soothing words. After I had finished my small bout of hysteria and she had wiped my tears away with her already wet towel, she told me to sit, but her eyes never left the body of the man from the river. He was wrapped in blankets and the blonde man with the mustache, the Doctor, was hammering his chest in rhythmic CPR.

Mother sighed, and turned her eyes momentarily towards me.

"It's time I told you the truth, Alice. Your father didn't die when you were an infant."

I looked at her in shock, immediately demanding an explanation but I was cut off. The man from the river, Sherlock, had come to and was currently being helped upright. They forced steaming hot water in a mug down his throat, and he sputtered all sorts of profanity imaginable. My mother, seeing he was alive, quickly moved to his side, taking his hand. Just as she did this however, the man recoiled from her touch, nearly jumping off the side of the gurney he had just been helped onto.

"WOMAN. WHAT THE BLOODY HE-"

"Sherlock, for God's sake, mind your language! There are young ears about!" Mother scolded him, much to my horror. Instantly the man turned around to stare at me, his grey eyes seeming to dig into my very soul. My mother beckoned me forward, and I carefully made my way towards her, my gaze never wavering from that of the man's.

As I reached her side, she pulled off my fur hat, allowing my long waves, the same auburn color as hers, to fall over my shoulders, and I could have sworn Sherlock had let a small, nearly inaudible gasp escape. The Doctor's eyes glanced from me to Holmes to my mother and if on cue, he politely walked away to talk to a police officer.

A silence fell over the three of us, and I could still feel the man's gaze on my face. Mother was the first to break the silence, and with a tiny, almost sheepish smile, she murmured, "Alice, meet Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, meet your daughter."


	2. Chapter 2

**This is just too much fun to write. x]**

**Also, I have been informed that in The Buncombe Valley Mystery, our beloved detective encounters a certain Alice Turner. This was entirely unknown to me, and I assure you my character has nothing to do with that Alice. The Alice in my story is my character and it is simply a coincidence that they share a name. ^-^**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>The second time I met my father, he was disguised as a French ambassador.<p>

My mother and I, or 'Irene' as I came to call her, were traveling abroad with the theatre company she had temporarily joined for a season, playing the lead female part as a guest actress. We had stopped to spend a few weeks in Vienna on a summer holiday with the company, I playing a small part while my mother shone like a star in the play's renowned glory.  
>Vienna was a beautiful city, not as cold nor as drab as London, with fanciful architecture abound. I was the youngest of the ladies of the troupe at only sixteen, but I was never looked down upon. Apparently I had inherited some of my mother's natural acting ability, and being the daughter of the lead actress caused very few to pick on me when they thought the director wasn't around. Camilla, an eighteen year old runaway Dane and my closest friend, often accompanied me on many adventures about the city. Together we were unstoppable, the gorgeous pair of exotic actresses from lands faraway, and we acted as such. Every evening that we had off was filled with balls and gowns and champagne. Having a mother who knew just about everyone was especially useful, and she was kind enough to merit invitations to all sorts of events for Camilla and I. My adopted sister and I roamed the streets of Vienna, purchasing lavish gowns and jewelry and shoes, though it was all based upon how the play was fairing. One week, we had sold so little tickets that we could barely afford food.<br>The life of an actress was a hard one, but exciting none the less.

One particular Wednesday, a day we had off, Irene returned to our hotel room, squealing like a young girl.

"ALICE! You'll never guess what happened to-day; I was invited by one of the members of the emperor's cabinet to attend a ball, this night, for foreign ambassadors and their wives and advisers, hosted by the emperor himself! Of course, I asked if I could bring you and Cam along, and he obliged!"

The moment I heard my mother squeal I sprinted from my small room of the suite, half-dressed and seriously concerned because Irene Adler does not squeal, to see if she was all right. Upon bursting into our lavish sitting room, I heard her excited speech and I too couldn't help but celebrate along with her. A ball filled with the most powerful men in the world? Yes, please!

She giggled, claiming we had so much to do before then, and turned away. But before she did so, a certain light sparked in her eyes, a light that looked an awful lot like suspicion. I brushed the feeling off, but still felt uneasy, as though my mother was hiding something from me. Promising to tell Camilla the minute she returned home from visiting the market, I silently returned to my room to find a suitable outfit to wear for the evening.

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><p>"No! You're bluffing…we're going to the most exclusive ball of the year!" Camilla perched on the side of my bed as I ran a comb through my curls, mouth slightly agape.<br>I nodded. "Irene acquired an invitation somehow, she told me earlier. Though there is definitely something else going on, but she wouldn't tell me."

I passed the ivory comb to Camilla, who immediately started working on her waist-length blonde waves. "Maybe she's looking forward to seeing an old friend or something- you know how popular your mom is," Cam giggled, twisting her hair up into a loose bun as to get dressed. I only giggled along with her; it was true. Irene was popular. Deciding to let it go, I spent the next two hours getting ready for the best night of my life with my almost-sister.

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><p>We arrived in a shining black motorcar, curtsey of Commander Barth, my mother's friend and an adviser to the Austrian-Hungarian emperor. Barth helped my mother out first, and I immediately noticed his eyes on her. It was true, my mother was exceptionally beautiful and the red gown she had donned in the latest of fashions only added to her appearance. I still didn't like him eyeballing my mother, and passively showed my distaste with my signature glare of disapproval. Camilla elbowed me with a tiny giggle, drawing me to attention. I looked down to see a handsome man in a tuxedo offer his hand.<br>I quickly smiled and accepted his offer, holding my dress with my free hand as to step out of the car. His companion, a tall man with short blonde tresses and equally as handsome features helped Cam down and together we were escorted into the ball, but not without a wink from my mother.

We climbed a marble staircase and gave our names to the attendant, who, upon seeing our companions, allowed us into the party without further questioning. Camilla and I giggled coyly, asking our escorts all sorts of polite questions, and it wasn't until they left, promising with their return the arrival of drinks, that Cam and I really had a chance to discuss our luck. "My, did you see how handsome they are? I can't believe it, English ambassadors!" My friend sighed happily, and I couldn't help but sigh along with her.

Just as we were talking about whether or not kissing would be acceptable in this situation, a lean man, French no doubt, with deep black waves and a thin mustache approached me. I looked at him questioningly, but offered my hand for him to kiss. "Ah, Madame, I couldn't help but notice your beauty. Please, may I have this dance?" His French accent was thick, but his eyes seemed much too familiar. I knew this man from somewhere... if only…

Camilla cleared her throat, and I looked back at the Frenchman, flashing a smile.  
>"I would be honored."<p>

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><p>He swept me out onto the dance floor, my navy gown twirling around his tuxedo pants.<br>"So, Monsieur..." I paused, realizing I knew not his name.  
>"Oh, forgive me, forgive me! Monsieur Jacques de Bouillon, ambassador to the great country of France!"<br>I smiled, my gloved hand resting lightly on his shoulder as he led us about the other dancers. "A pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Bouillon."  
>We danced through the song, and he requested I join him for another. I obliged, for I genuinely enjoyed talking with him, but couldn't help suppress my grin of joy when I caught Camilla playfully rolling her eyes at me. Halfway through our second dance, the ambassador leaned forward to whisper in my ear, not missing a beat, and with a perfectly normal English accent. "Your escort is here to kill your mother."<br>I nearly stopped dancing in shock, but he was quick, and kept us moving as not to seem out of place.  
>"But.. how.. what? Who...' I whispered back, panic rising in my chest.<br>"Barth? The one who invited Irene.. er, Miss Adler, is actually a paid assassin of a previous client of hers that she was less than kind to," The man replied calmly, looking around us.

I noticed Barth and the handsome gentleman that escorted me into the ball talking in whispers in the corner, but before I could react my dance partner had hurled a shoe at Barth, who had a gun drawn and pointed at my mother. The shoe hit the man hard on the side of the head and he dropped the gun, giving my mother time to escape through a window. The 'Frenchman' glanced back down at me, smirking slightly at my shocked expression, and slipped me a small sheet of paper. "Gather your friend and follow those directions exactly." He kissed me on the forehead, murmuring, "It was lovely to see you again my darling, tell your mother we're square now." His eyes locked with mine for an instant more before he turned to chase down Barth, who had sufficiently caused panic among the crowd.

I ran for Camilla, and it wasn't until we were on a discreet cab headed for our hotel, which we would be leaving as quickly as possible, that I finally recognized the man whom I had danced with.

Those eyes could only belong to the one and only Sherlock Holmes.


	3. Chapter 3

The final time I ever spoke to my father was on a train to Amsterdam.

"Miss Alice, I am very sorry for your loss."  
>I looked up from my book on graphology to see an older man take a seat across from me in my booth. He had aged since I had last seen him, but still looked as he did in his youth. His hair curled into waves of black and his gray eyes seemed to dance as he observed everything around us. I smiled and dog-earred my book, setting it on the small table between us.<br>"Mr. Holmes, a pleasure to see you again."

He smiled, almost sadly, and poured me more tea before waving down a waiter and asking for a second teacup, as long as I didn't mind. I shook my head, assuring him it was no bother to me and that his company was welcome.  
>We settled into the booth with our tea, and he was the first to speak.<br>"Your mother was a remarkable woman, Alice. You're smart enough to know that by now."  
>I nodded with a tiny, rueful smile, and, reaching for my cup, replied, "She was indeed. Irene was secretive about much of her life, but she was a fine mother to me." Holmes only chuckled at this.<br>"Ask away, my dear. I know you must have questions," he said.

He was right, I had many questions, hundreds of questions. I had no idea where to begin.  
>"Well, I know she has a younger sister, Annabella. I stayed with her when I was four or five for about 3 months while my mother was away. Er... she traveled a lot, and was a wonderful actress..." I looked down, embarrassed that I knew so little of the woman who reared me.<br>Sherlock nodded and settled back into his seat, and I, noticing this, readied myself for a story.

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><p>"Irene was born in the mid-1860's I believe, though I am unsure as to when exactly. She was an American, as you know, and born in New Jersey to a wealthy plantation owner who had sold his farm down south after the war in hopes of investing in the railroad. He did, and only added to his already large fortune. He and his wife, your grandparents, had two daughters: Irene, the eldest, and Annabella, two years her junior. I may be mistaken here, but I believe your grandfather sent your mother and your aunt to boarding school in London, which is where your mother was professionally trained in opera."<p>

I listened with intense curiosity. How did he know so much about her, and I, her daughter, knew next to nothing? This angered me ever so slightly, but if he knew so, he displayed nothing to show it.

"She traveled the continent," he continued, "a beautiful Prima Donna for La Scala, which is where she met Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein, prince of Bohemia, when he was visiting abroad. They had a temporary courtship, though the prince was due to marry a Romanov princess. Wilhelm left Irene, and, outraged, she held on to a photograph of the two together for blackmail."

I giggled a bit at this, as it was so typically _Irene_, and he paused to chuckle along with me before moving on.

"The prince had me involved, which is why I met your mother originally. The details of the case are nothing of interest, but she," he inhaled slowly, half in playful annoyance, half in legitimate resentment, "outsmarted me. And it wasn't the only time she has, either. she married Godfrey Norton, a simple man that I honestly believe she loved deeply, though he died some months after their unity in holy matrimony."

He paused here, either to emphasize his previous statements, or to catch his breath, I was not sure.

"Irene eventually found her knack for 'world-class crime,' as my dear friend Watson called it, and she ventured the world, paid by the wealthiest of men, to steal things for them. It was in London when I met her for the second time. Over the years she visited me often, but to call our relationship a courtship would be faulty. She led the chase of a lifetime, and I, ensnared in her seductive charm, adored every moment of it. We were never meant for married life or anything silly like that, but the many years we had will be my happiest, I do not doubt. On several occasions, she nearly convinced me to run away with her, but I declined, and sometimes I regret ever doing so.

"I never knew I had a child until you were nearly fourteen, Irene had hidden it exceptionally. She visited me many times during your youth and would stay in London for a few days at most, bringing me cases to solve and games to play, but never once mentioned you."

I sipped my cooling tea, listening and mentally taking notes.

"Alice, do you remember staying with your Aunt Bella for a few months when you were quite young? You mentioned it earlier."  
>I nodded, wondering where he was taking this.<p>

"Your mother had been involved with a horribly evil man, a serial killer and genius who wouldn't allow Irene to leave his service. He tried to poison her and thought he succeeded, but he, like I, underestimated your mother. She managed to fake her death to such a degree that Moriarty, that was his name, was convinced she had died and thus taunted me with her passing. I fought to track Moriarty down, as he was as much my enemy as Irene's, and though I suffered a terribly painful shoulder injury in the process and a three year exile in which the world thought I was dead, I succeeded. A fight between the Professor and I ended in us both toppling over a Swiss waterfall, and by my careful planning I survived."

This slightly alarmed me, for I had never heard my mother speak of it. He pressed on, fully engulfed in his story now.

"I believed Irene to be dead for many years. On that day in December when she jumped off the bridge to save my life was the first time I had seen her since the case with Moriarty. As you can imagine, to first discover that a woman you cared for deeply was not dead, but had your child, was quite shocking. We saw each other many times over the last few years.  
>"Alice, you do not understand how sorry I am for the death of your mother; she was too young to contract such a disease and not survive it. I was assured she would be fine, but alas..."<br>Holmes quieted, gazing out the window and at the landscape flying by in contemplation.  
>It was shocking to me, to hear of a whole secret life of an individual I thought I knew. Irene had rarely spoken of my father, and to find she spent years with him was slightly depressing. We sat in comfortable silence, both lost in our thoughts.<br>After a while, a train attendant walked the aisles of our car, informing us that the train would be arriving at our station in several minutes. My father looked at me, as if studying a rare specimen. it occurred to me that I was the very picture of my mother, though with his eyes. I offered him a sad smile and gathered my things.

We stepped off the train together and made our way through to crowd as to collect our luggage. We did so, and together walked into the crowd of the station. I turned to face him, preparing my goodbyes, and he smiled gently, handing me a folded parchment. I took it and glanced up at him, silently asking him dozens of questions. His eyes danced and he placed his old hat on his head, skewing it to the side slightly. Holmes leaned forward to kiss my forehead, and without a word more turned and disappeared into the crowd.

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><p>I sat in a cab headed for my hotel in Amsterdam, and pulled the parchment given to me out of my coat pocket for inspection. it was a letter, I saw, and it had been folded several times, its worn paper proving it had been ready many times. The ink was smudged slightly in a few places, but it was still legible. Opening it, I scanned the content.<p>

_SH-_

_It seems my time is short, and alas, I have no regrets. Our era is drawing to an end, and you would be a fool to admit it wasn't fun while it lasted. We never were meant to be together, it seems, but nonetheless we stabbed society in the back, mocking her, but now our reign has ended._  
><em>Send my regards to the lovely Doctor Watson; he has been a great help over the years.<em>

_Alice will be heading to Amsterdam in a few months to close up a few monetary arrangements I have there, and I would be much obliged if you could help her. My passing will be difficult for her._  
><em>Send our daughter my love and keep an eye on her. She means the world and more to me and I am extremely proud to call her ours. I have no doubt that she will make a place for herself in this seemingly unforgiving world.<em>  
><em>Lastly, I trust you won't get yourself into anything you can't handle when I'm gone. who will be there to pull you out of the water the next time around? Carry on, my dear.<em>

_With much adoration,_

_-IA_

_P.S. You'll miss me, Sherlock._

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><p><strong>Ahh! That was so fun to write! Thank you to everyone who reviewed and had nice things to say- it means so much to me!<strong>_  
><em>**Hopefully we'll see Alice again in the future.**

**With much love,**

**AT-  
><strong>


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